'he Pipe of Desire 
and Other Plays. By 

George Edward Barton 




Class _ <^3M. 
Book >J 



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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



THE PIPE OF DESIRE 



THE 

PIPE OF DESIRE 

AND 

OTHER PLAYS 

BY 

GEORGE EDWARD BARTON 




BOSTON 

THE OLD CORNER BOOK STORE, INC, 
I905 



COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY GEORGE EDWARD BARTON 



ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



3 



<& 

* ^ 



LIBRARY of C0N6RESsJ 
Two Copies Received I 

NOV 27 1905 

Copyriftrt Entry 
ICUvis £*. XXe, No. 



D. B. UPDIKE, THE MERRYMOUNT PRESS, BOSTON 






TO 

FREDERICK S. CONVERSE 

WHO HAS SET IT TO MUSIC 

THE PIPE OF DESIRE 

IS 

GRATEFULLY DEDICATED 



The Pipe of Desire 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 
I 


The Sewing Machine 




23 


The Image of God 




35 


The Thing to be Done 




45 



There is a God whose laws unchanging 

No one may hope to disobey. 

Man's own desires forced upon the ordained way* 

He for a moment triumphs, 

He has his will, 

He pays the penalty. 



CHARACTERS 

i o l a n J peasant 

naoia His betrothed 

the old-one Keeper of 'the Pipe 

the elves [mixed Chorus, with four 

gnomes, sylphs, undines secondary solo voices] 

AND SALAMANDERS 



THE PIPE OF DESIRE 

Ocene. A level spot covered with grass and flooded with sun- 
shine. At the rear lies a boulder, beyond which one sees the great 
trees of an ancient forest, a ravine, and a distant valley with a 
suggestion of human habitation. It is the first day of spring. 

A dozen of the elves are bustling about and working merrily. 
One has seeds in a sack which he passes to another, who, standing 
on the boulder, scatters them to the winds ; others are removing 
dead leaves from the flowers, and with their breath melting the 
last frost. 

elves The fallow field lies in the sun, 

The waters are rising through the woods, 

And the bright morning, 

Which yesterday smiled upon the white coverlet 

Of sleeping nature, 

Now gives with each breath 

New life to the little folk 

Of earth and air. 

The fawn sees with wonder 

The dry twigs become green ; 

And the old bear, uprearing, 

Yawns with yearning. 

Even the stones, 

Freed by the flying frost, 

Roll joyfully into the valley. 
2nd elf An old bullfrog down by the rock 
[undine] Had terrified the little brook, 

And filled her with dismay ; 

I caught him by his trailing leg, 

And for her pardon made him beg, 

And taught her how, in play, 

To toss him in a waterfall, 

To imitate his sombre call 

And, laughing, glide away. i 



3RD elf I found the great oak still a-sleeping, 
[sal am.] But from his side a Dryad peeping; 

E'er she to his dull heart returned, 

My kiss on her ripe lips had burned. 

She vanished at my hot embrace, 

But left her spirit in her place, 

And every glad branch straight did fling 

Its first buds out to welcome spring. 
elves Every year our work completed 

Nearer brings the peace of God. 

[ The voice of\ olanw heard singing in the distance; 
it grows louder as he approaches} 

A man ! 

Singing ! 

So soon ? 

With hope and victory ! 

While yet the snow lies in the pass ! 

'T is Iolan, he who lives below ! 

Throughout the winter he has toiled 

To earn a home for his betrothed. 
4.TH elf [mischievously] 

When he comes let us roll great stones upon him. 

Nay, Iolan ever has been kind to us. 

Pelt him, then, with these soft clods of earth. 

Poor payment that for all the food and fire 

He hath so often set for us. 

'Tis but in play — to tease him. 

Better a gift for him and Naoia. 

This jewel then. 

Who has the purchase for his home, 

Who feels the might of his strong arm, 

Who has the love of the loved one, 

Him doth a jewel hinder. 



4-TH 


ELF 


3RD 


ELF 


4-TH 


ELF 


2ND 


ELF 


4-TH 


ELF 


2ND 


ELF 


I ST 


ELF 



2ND 


ELF 


4-TH 


ELF 


2ND 


ELF 


4-TH 


ELF 


I ST 


ELF 


4-TH 


ELF 


3RD 


ELF 



sylphs Let us all sing as he goes by 
& sals. To cheer him on his way. 

Or call him — 

Dance him in a fairy ring, 

And prove our friendship. 

GNOMES & UNDINES 

What, show ourselves ? 

SYLPHS & SALAMANDERS 

What harm can be in that ? 
iolan [below] If a knight were I with a sword of steel 

I would fight for a golden crown. 
4.TH elf [calling] Iolan ! 
3rd elf Oh ! Io- 

2nd elf Oh Ian ! 

1st elf Iolan ! 
gnomes Nay, nay, call not. 
undines It is forbidden. 
iolan [below] Who calls ? 

3RD ELF Ho ! Io- 

2nd elf Ho Ian ! 

I st elf Iolan ! 

[ The old-one enters] 
old-one What is this madness? 

Ye well know it is forbidden 

To show ourselves to man. 
iolan [below] Hello — above there — Who called? 
old-one It is forbidden! 
3rd elf Not on the first day of spring, our day; 

We call but to requite his kindness. 
old-one It is not wise to violate an ancient law; 

No good can come of it. 

[iolan enters from behind the boulder ; the elves 
all hide] 
iolan My ears so ring with my own joy 

3 



I fancy all the trees call me by name. 

[He sees the elves stealing out from behind the trees] 

I dream ! 
1st elf If that be so, sleep peacefully, Iolan. 

For we be good dreams, 

Meant only for more perfect rest. 
iolan It is the wood-folk ! 
4-th elf Of whom your friendliness 

Hath made good friends. 
iolan Ah, friends who have been ever dear to me 

E'en though unseen, how much more 

Now that you deign to show yourselves. 

[elves dance around him in a ring] 
all [except the old -one, who sits sadly at one side] 

We '11 keep the frost from off your vine, 

The tempest to the hills we '11 send, 

Our willing hands will provide 

For loving hearts which confide, 

And governing all, 

To the confident call 

We will of 

Flame, flood, earth, air, 

Grant joy 

To all men who can trust 

In our good will. 
iolan See, here is the money I have earned 

To buy my farm. 

To-morrow Naoia I shall wed, 

And to the feast you all are bidden. 
old -one Even my old head must wonder 

At the laws I have to keep. 
iolan Have years, then, killed all your joy? 

Are you alone no friend to me ? 
old-one A friend regrets the recklessness of friends, 
4 



It is forbidden us to show ourselves to man. 

Alas, of it no good can come. 
iolan No harm can come of it, 

Believe one who has travelled far. 

I '11 not report whate'er you do, 

And will in secret prove my faith. 
old-one It is not given me to see the harm. 

Alas, of it no good can come. 
iolan Who is this, gloomy on the gladdest day 

Of spring ? 
ist elf The mightiest of all. 
4.TH elf [with great reverence] 

The Old-One. 
iolan Your king! Oh — oh, you mock me. 
2nd elf Nay, nay, we mock not. 
4-th elf He is the Old-One. 
iolan Where are his crown and sceptre then, 

Where is his purse of gold ? 
old-one Ten thousand years of life, my crown, 

The earth, my purse of gold; 

This Pipe which hangs about my neck 

The sceptre of the world. 
iolan My goat-horn could be heard 

Ten times as far; 

I '11 give it you, 

And so increase your empire, 
i st elf Nay, jest not at the Pipe. 
iolan Of what use is it, save to make you dance? 
3rd elf The Dance! The Dance! 

[The call of" The Dance" is taken up first by one, 
then another, then in semi-chorus. It becomes more 
and more insistent (musically ), and the elves in 
great excitement call others who are not yet on the 
stage] 

5 



4-th elf Well, on this first day of spring 

He plays for us to dance. 
ist elf The Dance! The Dance! 
o l d - o n e What task has fate in store for me to-day ? 
You 're mad — I will not play 
While he is here ! 
undines The Dance! The Dance! 
3RD elf But you must on this first day 

Play when we ask. It is the law. 
sylphs The Dance ! The Dance ! 
4TH elf Else do our spirits bubbling o'er 

Fly to the winds. 
sals. We claim the Dance ! 
old-one Pause! wait until Iolan has gone, 

Then will I play so wonderful a tune 
That all the hills shall join. 
all The Dance ! The Dance ! 

old-one Oh, evil hour! It is your right. 

[ The old-one plays a weird tune. From every side 
come the gnomes and sylphs,/^ undines 
and salamanders. The sky becomes overcast, 
but in a soft green light /^undines begin a sinu- 
ous gliding dance. The colour gradually changes as 
the others enter. They dance madly, laughing and 
shouting for joy. iolan, sitting on a log, watches 
them with amusement] 
undines We from the waters gently rise, 

Turning the thirsting meadows green ; 
From waters rise, 
Meadows soothing. 
sals. Raise our burning, 

Raise our burning now. 
undines Let me be with him! 
Let me be with him ! 



sals. Swirl and flare in our power, 

Writhe and leap in our glory, 

Burning clear. 
undines Flowing still, flowing still, 

We will bring a gift to thee. 
sylphs Ah, the rapture ! 

Ah, all nature, 

Comes to join us, 

Now assign us 

Each her duty. 

Ah, the rapture, 

Dancing in our glee ! 

Floating, Floating. 
undines Come flame a-high, 
& sals. Come now a-flowing. 

We dance, a gift to bring thee. 

Dancing in our glee ! 
solo sylph 

Far over heaven, all floating, we soar. 

Glorify the Power ! 

SOLO UNDINE 

Ah, the freedom ! 
gnomes Up from out the earth we come 

To join thee. 
all Up and down and round 

We will dance gaily, 

Flaming, floating, 

In our pleasure, 

Flowing, running, 

To thy measure, 

To the wondrous music 

Of the Pipe's great magic. 

Wonderful Power, 

We follow thy call. 

Hear it ! Hear it ! 7 



Dancing in our bower. 

Ha ha ha ha ha ! 

Up and down and round, 

Laughing, singing, 

In our glee. 

Laughing we go dancing — 

Round and round we go. 

All of heaven, 

All of water, 

All of nature, 

Greets thee, Hails thee, 

Obeys thee. 

Ha ha ha ha ha ! 

Dance to spring ! 

[ The song ends in a burst of riotous joy, during which 
most of the elves dance off into the woods] 
4.TH elf Do you believe now 

In the power of the Pipe ? 
iolan Another would have served as well 

For those who wished to dance. 
4.TH elf Ay, but it could even make you dance. 
iolan There is no power in earth or heaven 

To make me dance, or wish to dance, 

Save with my bride. 
4.TH elf He jeers at us ! 
3rd elf Scoffs at our Pipe! 
both Now make him dance. 
old-one I beg of you, my children — 
iolan I will allow it is as much a magic pipe 

As he who begs is king. 

I who have earned my home, 

What cause have I to fear your power ? 

Ha ! ha ! In my own hand 

Lies all that I desire ! 



old -one Man's power is a fearsome thing, 

And you say well 

He holds it in his hand. 

You 've won from a world you understood ; 

Look lest you lose, 

Through what you fail to see. 
elves He denies our Pipe ! 

Now he must dance ! 

Dance, Iolan, dance ! 
iolan I '11 put my strength and love 

Against your Pipe and Power. 
old -one [sadly] Ah well, then — dance. 
iolan I will not ! 

[ The o l d - o n e plays j and iolan vainly endeavours 
to keep from dancing] 
iolan I feel its charm. It is a magic Pipe ! 

I will not dance ! Stop, stop, I say ! 

I will not dance ! 
elves [all laughing] Dance, Iolan, dance! 
iolan [dancing madly] 

False friends, I have forsworn myself. 

Stop, stop, I say ! A curse upon your Pipe ! 

[He snatches the Pipe from the o l d -o n e, breaking 
the cord. The elves all cry out in terror, and are 
then silent] 
iolan How now, old king, 

Your feet must win your sceptre back. 
old -one Pause, Iolan. When in an evil hour 

You were called here, 

'T was that my children meant you well : 

Do you want power, gold or wine, 

We '11 give it you ; 

But blow not on the Pipe : 

It is forbidden. 

9 



iolan Think you that / then fear this little thing. 

1st elf Iolan, it is a sacred Pipe. 

all Listen. 

old-one 'Tis the Pipe God gave to Lilith, 

And she played to man in Eden, 

But its charm was rent by woman ; 

Now we play its potent music 

That those in solitude may hear, 

And continue, restless, wandering, 

Searching ever. 
iolan I '11 keep the tale 

To tell to children. 
elves Beware! 

ist elf Hear first the curse God laid upon it. 
old-one Let thy tune, now sad, now merry, 

Wax and wane with every breath ; 

Let the joy of love's beginning 

Blend into the chant of death. 

Let the mortal who dares play thee 

Without knowledge of thy mood, 

Pale in terror at thy meaning, 

And die when he has understood. 
iolan Think you the story 

Frightens breath 

Out of a breast like mine ? 

[He blows a harsh, discordant note] 

[At the sound of the Pipe the sun suddenly becomes 
o bs cured, and in an unearthly darkness all the elves 
vanish with a loud cry. As the old-one turns to 
fly, iolan, with a mocking laugh, catches him and 
rolls a stone upon his cloak, from which he vainly 
endeavours to free himself] 
elves [flying through the forest] Oh ! Oh ! 

10 



Misery — 

I burn — 

Fly, fly ! 

Beware — 

Beware — 
iolan [blows again] 

A pest upon it ! 

I cannot play this Pipe. 

\_Another discord] 

Ah, that I could play the strain 

Which rises now within my soul. 
old- one Ah, misery. 

[iolan plays a beautiful theme. He repeats it, and 
drops the Pipe. His eyes become fixed upon a vision 
which rises before him] 
iolan It is the strain I heard within my soul. 

What glorious vision this before me rising ! 

The picture of my utmost wish appears ; 

Like a curtain the forest around me parts, 

And the peaceful valley lies before. 

There are the meadows won by my toil, 

There, even now I see myself tilling them, 

Strong horses I drive, 

And beyond, graze my goats and kine. 

My harvesters sing as they work, 

And my soul rejoices in the produci of my 
strength. 

I raise my steaming face 

In thanksgiving to the sun 

As he drops behind the hills. 

Through the purple twilight 

I seek my rest. 

There, from that clump of verdure, 

Rises the smoke from my hearth, 



My children play before my door, 

My wife — my Naoia — 

Comes to me thro' the roses, 

And love folds around me 

Its soft mantle of repose. 

Naoia, my Naoia ! 

Why do I linger here ? 

Naoia, my Naoia ! 

Do you not hear me call ? 

[With great passion] 

Leave all, leave all — and come to me. 

[// becomes light again, the old -one recovers the 
Pipe, and frees himself] 
old-one "Tis done. 

[iolan turns to go] 

Nay, listen. 

Ah, heedless one, 

The Pipe but played 

The note of your desire, 

And your desire helps 

To rule the world. 

Listen again, 

And see what you have done. 

\^At the first note of the pipe iolan stops, and again 
the vision appears. The old-one sits motionless at 
one side] 
iolan Again the magic spell is o'er me stealing, 

All is dark ! 

My Naoia's cottage ! 

Within, see Naoia ! 

But she lies upon her bed, 

Her mother in her anguish 

Kneels there in silent prayer. 

Is she then dead? 



Ah, nay, nay, she smiles, 
And they leave her all alone. 
She thinks of me, 
And smiling sweetly, sleeps. 

Now she hears my voice ! 

Calling, as I just called to her 

To come to me. 

She rises from her bed ! 

She will obey my voice ! 

Stop, Naoia, stop ! 

Ah, do not come ! 

Across the fields she runs, — 

Her bare feet bleed, 

And fever blazes on her cheeks. 

Return, return, beloved ! 

She breathes my name, 

And now the forest dark receives her. 

See, see ! she falls ! 

The cruel stones have cut her head, 

Her thin robe by the thorns is torn. 

She fords the icy stream ! 

She scales the rock ! 

Oh, Naoia ! You are in delirium, 

And I — I did not know! 

[Enter naoia. Her thin clothing is torn, her feet 

are bare and her forehead is bleeding\ 
Across the world I heard you call, beloved ; 
I have come. 
Fool that I was, 
I 've brought this suffering 
On your sweet body. 
Ah, Naoia, how could I, 
Who love you so, 

13 



Thro' heedlessness 

Cause such misfortune ! 

I did not know ! 
naoia Over the hill-top at early dawn 

The wind, like a young man, came. 

The wind is a friend to those who love, 

And he sang of your return. 

My mother sat by my bedside, 

And read from the holy book — 

Heaven have mercy, 

I only heard 

Your voice, as you, singing, journeyed on, 

Homeward — and thought of me. 

Suddenly as the holy bells 

Ring when God draws nigh, 

I heard you call to me to come. 

And so, sweetheart, I came. 
iolan Had I but known, beloved, 

I would have spared you all this agony. 
naoia Save that you shall cease to love me, 

There is no pain I fear. 

So long have I waited, 

The pressure of your hand 

Is like the culmination of a dream, 

Which shortly fading, 

Will leave another bond 

Endearing sleep. 

Ah, hold me closer, Iolan ; 

You '11 leave me nevermore, 

Say that it is so. 

Why do you look at me 

With tearful eyes ? 

And yet, so tenderly, I oft have wept 

In thinking of this day. 
14 



This day, 

The first of all the endless days to come 

Of our great joy. 

Iolan ! Ah, Iolan, 

Say that it is so ! 
iolan I '11 never leave you more. 
naoia [delirious] 

See, Iolan, all the roses have come out 

To dance upon our wedding-day. 

Here 's one for you. 

And every, every day 

You shall have one 

For just a kiss. 

Ah, Iolan, 

Is it too dear ? 
iolan Naoia! 
naoia We have not lost a single lamb, 

And see, how sturdy little Iolan is, 

Your son and mine. 

Like this on every evening 

We will sit within our bower, 

And watch him as he grows to manhood, 

Grows up to honest manhood, husband. 
iolan Yea, little wife. 

naoia From the world you bring me all you Ve won. 
iolan All that I 've won is but your faith reflected. 
naoia My faith is but your strength revealed. 
iolan My strength would fail without your hope's in- 
centive. 
naoia My hope is but a knowledge of your will. 
iolan All that is dear in life you are expressing. 
naoia Naught to express have I save love of you. 
iolan Then by one kiss we cease to be divided. 
naoia Then by one kiss we both shall be united. 

J 5 



iolan My life's salvation lies in love of you. 
naoia My soul's salvation lies in love of you. 

\S he falls exhausted] 
naoia And when old age comes trembling on 

Years, years, years hence, 

We will hold each other's hands 

As we do now, 

And as we used before you went away. 

Oh, Iolan, do not go away. 

Oh, hold me closer, closer, dear ; 

Without you it is dark, 

And I am cold, so cold. 

[She dies] 
iolan Naoia, Naoia, little wife! 

See, dearest, I will hold you close ! 

The fire of my love 

Shall keep you warm ! 

Ah, dearest — 

Naoia ! Speak to me ! 

Your eyes ! Naoia ! 

Ah, my God, she 's dead ! 
elves [from the depths of the fores i\ 

See how in agony 

Iolan bends o'er her, 

She who but yesterday 

Was in full flower — 

He who an hour since 

Revelled in power. 
old-one I wonder at the laws 

Which I must keep. 
iolan I smooth the hair back from your brow, 

So you would have done for me 

When I was weary, — 

You who were as music on the waters. 
16 



It has vanished, all that wondrous realm 

In which I used to lose myself 

As a dream is lost 

Within the depths of sleep. 

You were she for whom alone I laboured. 

Were there no others 

Who could not love as we have loved, 

That God should let you die 

And leave me dead ? 

You were she who was to bear me children. 

Where is this God ? 

Where dwellethHe? 

For I would take Him in my hands 

And throttle Him. 

You God, if you have heard me on my knees 

Give thanks for every pittance 

Won by reeking toil, 

See, as I hurl the gold you Ve turned to lead 

Back in your mocking face, 

And hear me curse you ! 

No, fool, there is no God, 

And — I am all alone. 
old-one There is a God whose laws unchanging 

No man may hope to disobey. 

Upon His Pipe you blew your one desire, 

Forced your own will upon the ordained way. 

Man has his will, 

Man pays the penalty. 
iolan It was I who killed her? 

You cursed imp 

Sent by some fiend to mar 

All my life's happiness ! 

17 



This unjust punishment 

Is without reason. 

You shall now render 

My price for vengeance. 
old-one Strike, Iolan, if you think 

Her soul demands revenge. 
iolan She was a beam from heaven. 

She would forgiveness show. 

My staff I throw away, 

I '11 do what she would do. 
elves [nearer] 

Lo, her death purifies. 

Gone is his wilfulness : 

He becomes more strong. 
iolan I saw a flower by the roadside, 

And rested. It reminded me of her, 

So pale and pure it was. 

I plucked it and put it in my cap, 

And thought of her. 

At twilight I went again to rest, 

And think of her — 

The stalk was bare, 

And in my cap 

The flower had faded. 
elves [peering from behind the rocks and trees] 
[semi- We in our day of spring, 
chorus] Hoping to give him joy, 

Have brought him misery. 
old-one Thoughtless ye ever were 

Of human weakness. 
elves Play, then, on this our day 
[semi- The old song of winter, 
chorus] That he may see the way 

All things must wither. 
18 



old- one Mindful ye ever are 

Of God's great goodness. 

[He plays the song of autumn; the light fades until 
at the end the stage is dark] 
iolan Now suddenly 

The new-born spring 

Trembles with terror, 

And the cloak of nature 

In sombre brown appears ; 

I hear the moaning of the winter wind. 
elves Already the summer wanes, 

And yearning autumn 

Feels the chill of age. 
iolan Fast and faster, 

With awful stillness, 

Like the panther 

The cold creeps on. 

The jewels which shone 

So beautiful in sunlight 

Under gray clouds 

Mock me for believing in their value. 

I cried aloud, 

In my strength will I go, 

With the might of my arm 

I will earn my home, 

And return to her ; 

But the spring is dead. 

The frozen buds — 

How can they open without her? 

Or the brook sing again 

If she may not hear ? 

The forest is deserted ; 

The world with wrinkled face 

Can weep no more. 19 



elves The winter was never yet too cold 

For the dead to sleep in peace, 

The snow was never deep enough 

To prevent the spring's release. 
iolan The Pipe is soothing me to sleep — 

Why should I ever rise? — 

All that I lived for 

Lying here. 

Like an old man 

Whose life is spent, 

My hand trembles, 

But my heart moves not. 

[He sinks down beside the body o/naoia] 
5th elf Such ones who die too soon 

Spring they then up again ? 
2nd elf Far they who die for love — 
old-one They have accomplished. 
3rd elf Then all is not amiss — 
old -one Nothing is wasted. 
iolan The leaves fall softly from the trees, 

Dead, before dropping, like my old desires. 

Not among men I lost — 

[A bright light suddenly illumines the scene, iolan 
springs to his feet. A glad burst of music] 

'T was in myself I failed. 

Naoia ! It is not cold ! 

[He sees n aoi a' s form above him, as a vision] 

[He falls, dead] 
elves Nothing is wasted. 

CURTAIN 



THE SEWING MACHINE 



CHARACTERS 

f o l a n A consumptive 

peter A simple fellow 

krantz A middle-aged man 

A DEAF MUTE 

rachel A young girl 

mother ann An old woman 

maggie An errand girl 

time. Seven o'clock on a winter morning 
place. The City 



THE SEWING MACHINE 

ucene. A dingy room in a tenement bouse. On the wall at 
either side of the entry door, at the rear, are pegs, upon which hang 
half-finished garments of the cheapest quality. At the left, looking 
out upon an area, is a small window, upon the sill of which stands 
a potted geranium. At the right, beside a cold stove, is a box con- 
taining a little coal and a few pieces of waste wood. Six sewing 
machines stand about the room; the one used by peter so placed 
as to allow him a view out of the window. 

Until the very end of the play the rumble of one or more of 
the machines is heard. 

krantzw discovered sewing at his machine. After a moment 
maggie enters, blue with cold, and begins to build a fire. 

krantz What are you doing? 

maggie There has to be a fire to-day. 

krantz There has to be no fire to-day! 

maggie Rachel said — 

krantz There'll be no fire. How can you get more coal 
with a foot of snow on the ground and the 
dump frozen stiff"? Where 's the thread ? 

maggie The shop ain't open yet. 

krantz Why did n't you get it last night? 

maggie It was closed before I got through last night. 

krantz Go get it. Waste all day running up and down 
stairs ! 
[Exit maggie] 

rachel [outside] Oh, do be careful! 

maggie [outside] I'm awful sorry, Rachel, honest I am. 
[Enter rachel carrying a dipper of water] 

rachel You spilled half of it ! 

krantz What's that for? 

rachel The flower. 



23 



k r a ntz Ha, ha. All the way upstairs ? Ain't the pail water 

good enough? 
rachel To wash in, I suppose. The flower is bigger this 
morning. Some in the gardens are big as my 
two hands. I hope this will be a pretty one. 
[krantz keeps on at work, rachel, after hanging 
up her poor jacket, rubs her hands and sits down at 
her machine. She stares absently at the geranium 
for a moment, then with a sigh begins to work. The 
deaf mute enters with a hoarse cry of welcome, 
and goes at once to work, and, as his face is turned 
away from the rest, the sound of his machine con- 
tinues uninterruptedly throughout the scene, peter 
enters] 
peter There has to be irons to-day, why not a fire? 
rachel I told Maggie — 

krantz And I told her not. Who'll get more when that 
coal is gone ? We '11 have a fire when we need it. 
peter Your temper '11 warm us up. Ha-ha-ha-ha. 
krantz Shut up, you fool. 
peter [looking out of the window] She 's not there yet. 

[Enter mother ann, panting for breath] 
ann Oh, those stairs! 

peter Go slow, old woman. Your heart will go all 

bumpity some day. Crack ! You die. 
ann Yes, yes, some day. 

[She throws off her shawl, and sits down at her machine] 
rachel How are you this morning, Mother Ann? 
ann Very nicely, very nicely, my dear. I'm always 

very nicely — for an old woman. 
peter [looking out of the window] She has n't come yet. 
rachel Folan is late to-day. 

krantz It's the first time in five years. You're late often 
enough. 
24 



peter Five years. It was just five years ago that she first 

came to the window opposite. 
ann God grant Folan finds his woman soon — else 

't will be too late. 
rachel How rapidly he sinks ! 
peter Is he hunting for a woman? 
krantz What else would a fool like him hunt for every 

night, for year after year ? 
peter Once I asked him. He got so mad, I stopped. 

Ha-ha-ha. 
rachel Is she his wife? 
peter I'll ask him. 
krantz You don't dare to. 
ann Have done, have done ! 

peter She has not come yet. 

[Enter folan. He takes off his muffler in silence, and 
staggers to his machine] 
peter What luck, Folan? Did you find her last night? 
folan No, not yet, not yet. But I found some one so like 

her that just for a moment I felt — as I shall 

always feel — when I do find her. Ah — mind 

your own business ! 
krantz Ha, ha. 

f o l an [dropping his head in his hands, and coughing] Oh — h. 
rachel You don't feel well this morning, Folan. 
folan What — Oh, it is cold. Yes, so — ha, ha, only the 

sharp — the sharp air, yes, but it strengthens 

me, little one. 
[He starts his machine] 
peter You've got money saved; you can get a coat like 

mine — a good one — for a dollar. 
folan It is not that. I am always warm, yes, quite warm. 

I was late. I could not get my tea this morning. 

I was out — last night. 

25 



ann 'Tis no good to do so, Folan ; you save nothing. 

folan I save, yes, I save. 

peter There she is — there she is. 

folan She? 

rachel The girl across the way, that's all. 

folan Oh, yes — that's all. 

peter She must have a fire in her room, for her sleeves 
are rolled up. [He begins to whistle] 

krantz Shut up, you fool. 

folan Why shouldn't he be happy? He has his happi- 
ness before him. 

krantz What good does it do him? 

rachel He might marry her. 

peter Why not? 

krantz Ha, ha, you fool. Folan here will talk of marriage 
next. 

peter Ha-ha-ha-ha. 

folan Why do you laugh ? 

peter You get married? 

folan I have sixty dollars in the bank, and no one knows 
where I have hid the book. 

krantz What would a woman want with you? 

folan Why . . . why, I . . . 

ann For his good heart. 

krantz It will spoil the sixty dollars to put it in a coffin. 

peter Ha-ha-ha-ha. 

rachel Oh — 

folan But I am not going to die ! 

krantz Maybe not. 

ann Have done, man, he 's not himself to-day. 

krantz Drunk last night most likely. 

peter She's singing. I can see her lips — singing while 
she works. Now, is she not a merry one ? 

folan She was — always so merry. 
26 



FOLAN 


RACHEL 


PETER 


FOLAN 



krantz Ha, ha. 

rachel He means the girl across the way, Folan. 
Oh, yes — the girl across the way. 
Does she look pretty this morning, Peter? 
She is beautiful, and she pounds and pounds with 
her strong hands on the stamp, and sings — I 
could sing, too. 
Damn you ! She comes to you and stays all day be- 
fore you while you work. And I — I may not 
find her, and I search all night, year after year. 
Oh, it is not fair, it is not fair. 

peter Aye, Folan, it's too bad ! But come and see her ! 
The sight of her will cheer you up — as she 
stands there and sings. I Ve asked you often and 
you'll never come — no, never ! 

folan What's your happiness to me? It's my own I'm 
looking for. But it's always the night that's all 
inside of me — 

ann Perhaps yours, too, is close at hand. 

rachel Yes, you may have seen her often and not known 
her. 

krantz Ha, ha. 

folan Not know her ! Not know little Zelda ! Why, her 
cottage was yellow and all spotted by the 
storms. Yes, one spot we called the Turk ; it used 
to frighten her, and I would punch it, so, and 
so, with my little hands. Ha, ha — and there was 
always bread and butter, too, for us ; and we 
could eat, I tell you, after we had been romping 
in the fields, chasing the swallows that lived in 
little holes there in the cliffs, and watching the 
white sails of ships that sailed and sailed and al- 
ways sailed so temptingly — to here. 

ann Have done — have done ! 

27 



folan They had a cow also. 

krantz And money lay around in little piles. 

folan I do not lie. I own now the farm there, yes — should 

I go back. 
peter She's just looked over here. 

[He whistles] 
folan My mother — she is there still. But she is old — 

yes — very old. She used to take me — so — and 

pat my head. 
krantz Oh, go to work. 
peter Ha-ha-ha-ha. 
ann Ah, Folan, why do you not go back ? If she is old, 

she longs to take you again within her arms and 

pat your head once more — before she dies. 
folan Yes, yes, soon I will go. 
rachel And you would find her there perhaps, she who 

would love you. 
folan No, no — First I find her. Then we go back, yes, 

— I have sixty dollars in the bank, no one knows 
where I have hid the book. I promised her there 

— with the chickens all around. 
peter Ah, chickens ! 

folan They must have heard. 

peter Ha-ha-ha-ha. 

rachel And did she promise too? 

folan Yes, too; and I came here — to earn my fortune. 

krantz Oh, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. 

folan Ha-ha-ha-ha — yes, that is funny. To make my 
fortune — Christ ! 

rachel But why do you seek her here? 

folan Here! here! Yes. Great God in heaven, did I 
not make my fortune ? Did I not save two hun- 
dred dollars in a year ? I did not know the 
speech, then. I went to a man, a. countryman — 
28 



a friend of mine — [he spits on the floor] He was 
going home, he would bring her back to me. 
He swore it ! Damn his cursed soul, he swore 
it! 

rachel But she would not trust him? 

folan She would have trusted any one to get to me. 

peter Ha-ha-ha-ha. 

folan I — I was not like this — then. Listen, I gave him 
money — yes, half his own travel money, too. 

krantz And never saw him again. 

folan He brought her back. Yes. She was beautiful, he 
wanted her, but she did not love him. 

krantz Ha, ha. How do you know? 

folan Yes, I do know. But listen. I did not meet the 
ship. I did not know when they would come. 
The police, they frightened her; they say, 
"Where is your husband?" My "friend," he 
tell her," Say that I am he, or they will send you 
back; then we will find Folan." And so he took 
her off with him. Yes, I did wait and wait, 
month after month. At last I did hear that they 
had come. Then I did hunt and hunt and hunt. 
At last I found them. They were together in 
his room. She was by the stove cooking his food. 
God ! yes, and I was hungry. 
I walked into the room. They did not say a word, 
only she dropped her spoon and made a little 
moan. I smell the grease now that fell and 
burned. I said " What did you with my Zelda ? " 
" Look," he said, " she is no good. Take her and 
go away." 
When I saw her big with his child, then there 

was blood all around. 
I ran my dagger through and through and through 

29 



his rotten back. Then I beat her, yes, I beat my 
Zelda with my hands. I rubbed her face then in 
his blood — yes, in his blood — and went away. 

krantz Sch — sch — Don't talk so loud. 

folan Oh, do not fear. Then they arrested me. Yes. He 
did not die. I heard her tell her story to the 
judge. They would not let me speak to her. 
When I got out of prison, "Yes," I said, "now I 
will find her." I had no money, but I begged — 
I thieved, then I was weak. I was not fit for her. 
Now I am strong. Yes — now I work all day. At 
night I hunt, I hunt — oh, yes, I hunt for her. 
And the night it loves me, for all inside of me 
is now full of the night ; and all the other night, 
that fills the world, when I go out rushes to 
meet me and pours itself all into me to join that 
which is here. And all the time I hunt, I hunt ; 
yes — even in those places, for may she not be 
there ? What else for her to do ? And I, did I not 
send here there — do I not love her still? 
And I have sixty dollars in the bank, and no one 
knows where I have hid the book. Then we 
will go back, just her and me and my old mother 
— she pats me on my head — like this. 
[Enter m aggie with an armful of clothes\ 

maggie Say, Rosenski says these clothes are no good — sew 
'em over. Here 's yer thread ! 

krantz They 's Folan's. 

rachel No — they are mine. 

ann Have done, child. Give them here. 

peter Look at him! He's spitting blood! 

ann 'Twas bound to come. 

rachel Here, Peter, give him air, 

krantz Oh, how can a man work — 
30 






ann Man, he's dying. 

krantz Dying ? nothing ! 
rachel Maggie, here, get him some brandy. 

[Exit maggie] 
peter Sit in my chair. How funny blue you look. 
ann Don't talk like that — give me his head. 

peter See, Folan, see the sun! 

[A ray of sunlight comes in through the window. 
rachel moves the plant into it] 
rachel Look, Folan, see the flower. Ain't it pretty? 
ann That's right. 

peter Look, Folan, over there is where she works — she 
will come soon. And you have never seen her. 
folan The night is all inside. What is she to me? 
peter The sight of her would cheer you up. See ! There 
she is ! Is she not beautiful ? 
[folan looks slowly round, following peter' sfnger. 
He rises from the chair, and tries to speak, rachel 
drops on the floor, and covers her face with her hands] 
ann Oh, Mother of God ! 

folan See ! Let me get up ! Ah, ah . . . Zelda ! Let me 
go, you dog ! Yes, you love her and you '11 hold 
me, will you ? And she 's been there for years, 
and you have kept her to yourself. You . . . [he 
strangles] 
ann For the love of Heaven, Krantz, go get her. Man, 

don't you see ? — she is the girl across the way. 
krantz Oh, he is crazy! She can't be the one! Do you 

suppose — 
ann Well, what if she is not? Go bring her here. 

krantz [rising] How can a man earn his living with 
everything . . . 
[Exit] 
folan Yes, yes, I knew that you would come, and I have 

3 1 



sixty dollars in the bank for you and me. And 
I will pound the Turk's head for you over 
there. No, no, no, I will not, no — dear God ! I 
did not mean to kill him. Zelda, why do you 
turn away? Zelda! Did you not forgive me 
when I went away ? I thought the great white 
ships that always sailed and sailed so temptingly 
would bring me back to you. I only wanted 
you. 
They kept me from you, Zelda; they want you 
too ; they would keep me with the night always 
within me. 
She 's talking to a man ! And he is taking her away 
with him, — see, and she looks at me ! She does 
not want to go with him ! Let me get up ! I say, 
let me get up ! See, see, he 's taken her away — 
my happiness — my happiness. 

peter I tried to make him look at her, oh, many times, 
and he would not — r no — never. 

ann Have done, have done! 

folan And I have sixty dollars in the bank — just you 
and me — and my old mother — she used to 
hold me — so, and pat my head — Ach . . . ch. 
[He dies'] 

ann Like this, like this. Oh, my poor boy, my boy, 

my boy. 

[The deaf mute, who has turned around a mo- 
ment before, gives a loud inarticulate cry of hor- 
ror, and rushes out] 



CURTAIN 



THE IMAGE OF GOD 



THE IMAGE OF GOD 

IN the land of Kaf, in the city of Kavan, dwelt 
a man whose name was Klan. 

On that day when his years were twoscore and 
ten, he knelt before the image of his God and ad- 
dressed it, saying, 

I took Thee, a stone out of my father's field; with 
mine own hands did I fashion Thee into the crude 
shape which Thou still bearest, the shape of that 
God which is God. 

These many years have I sacrificed before Thee, 
and of whatsoever I had, a part of that also did I 
offer Thee. 

And thou hast made the earth to open under my 
labour and the richness thereof to reward my toil: 
from my vine has sprung a vineyard, and my sheep 
have an hundred shepherds. 

Now, that I may not seem unthankful in Thy 
sight, behold and bless this which I purpose for Thy 
glory. 

A large stone will I take, and my hands shall fash- 
ion it into an image worthy of Thy greatness. And 
the face of it shall be of ivory, and the robe of it 
shall be of gold. Of fine gold shall be its hair, and 
bright sapphires its eyes. Its heart shall be a ruby, 
and diamonds shall crown its intellect: that all who 
behold my image shall prostrate themselves before 
it, saying, 

There is no God like unto the God of Klan. 

And Klan arose and went into the fields and found 
a stone, and the stone was large and shaped like unto 
a man whose soul wanders in the third heaven. 

So he worked diligently, and as his hands moved, 

35 



so moved his heart also, and his eyes were opened, 
and he saw that the stone which he had chosen was 
no larger than himself: and he reproached himself, 
saying, 

Surely the God which made me rich and power- 
ful is larger than I am myself. 

So he cast aside that stone, and sought another. 

Many stones both large and sound found Klan of 
Kavan, yet did he reject them all. 

Then began his wanderings from place to place, 
from them that were near at hand unto them that 
were afar off. 

And though he found stones, each larger than the 
other, yet none found favour in his sight as worthy 
to embody the greatness of his God. 

And he was sore distressed, and he took from his 
script the old image of his God, and he prayed again 
before it, saying, 

O God who art God, look down upon my misery. 

For my bones are fettered by fatigue, and de- 
spondency sleeps on my spirit. 

The memory of my fire vanishes before the cold 
wind, and my belly cries aloud for the food of my 
herdsmen. 

He who did judge the disputes of the elders is be- 
come alone in the wilderness: he who welcomed the 
stranger is become a wanderer without habitation. 

All these things I have renounced for Thee; 
wherefor hast Thou turned Thy face from me ? 

Did I not tell Thee the cause of my travels, and 
did I not set out to Thee the reason for my labour ? 

Mayhap Thou thinkest me a boaster. Mayhap 
Thou doubtest me within Thy heart, and sayest, 

How shall Klan carve even the great stones which 
36 



he has seen, for shall he not grow old, like other men, 
and die? 

But that which I have promised Thee shall be 
performed. 

With my riches I will hire workmen, and my 
power shall enforce slaves. 

The wilderness about the rock shall become a city, 
and the outskirts thereof a strong fortress, that it 
may come to pass as I have promised. 

Then let the finger of Thy wisdom point out the 
path of my destination, for all that Thou showest 
me of Thy greatness, that shall be graven upon the 
stone to be a monument to Thee before all men 
forever. 

Now a sudden darkness arose from the earth ob- 
scuring all things, so that Klan could not see the 
image to which he prayed. 

And he seized the image in both his hands, and 
fear closed the channels of his speech. 

And he raised his eyes, and, lo, he was upon a 
great plain which spread out before him endlessly. 

And there came a voice from heaven as of a 
mighty trumpet, as of a hundred brazen trumpets 
before the king, saying, 

O Klan, turn thee about. 

And Klan turned himself about, and before him 
he saw a high mountain, as it were a pyramid reach- 
ing to the sky, and the height of it was greater than 
all the mountains on the earth. 

And upon the mountain as upon a footstool, he 
beheld the figure of an angel sitting. 

The feet of the angel were upon the plain, and 
his head reached into the higher heaven. 

37 



And the angel had great wings, and the tips of the 
wings stretched beyond the horizon at either side. 

And the wings of the angel were like unto clouds 
at sunrise, and the face of the angel blazed as with 
fire, and the radiance thereof was as the dawn. 

And the angel smiled upon Klan, and said, 

Come hither. Here is a stone worthy to be carved 
into thy image of God. 

And the angel disappeared, and Klan with joy of 
heart journeyed towards the mountain. 

But when he had come unto it, the mountain 
seemed not so large, and he thought that it but ob- 
scured a higher peak beyond: and he began to climb 
the mountain. 

Now as he climbed he heard a soft voice calling to 
him from below, and he paused and answered, saying, 

Here am I. Who art thou ? 

And the voice said, We are the earth. 

And Klan said, What would ye ? 

And the earth said, Carve us into thy image of 
God. 

And when Klan had pondered for a time he said, 
So be it. 

Now when he came to the top of the mountain 
he saw a vast plain which extended in all directions 
equally. 

And four rivers crossed the plain in four direc- 
tions, flowing from the rock on which he stood. And 
the four rivers called to him, saying, 

We be the four rivers which flow out from the 
source, yea, even unto the uttermost oceans of ob- 
scurity. 

And Klan said, What would ye ? 
38 



And the waters said, Carve us also into thy image 
of God. 

Now from every side around the mountain rushed 
great herds of animals, each with its kind. The wild 
horse and the elephant shook the ground with their 
tramping, the antelope and the bullock drummed 
the plain with their hoofs. And the air became sud- 
denly full of birds, all the birds of the air in great 
clouds circled about his head. And the sky was full 
of their flying, and the heavens were obscured by 
the multitude of their wings: and they flew round 
and round the earth above the animals upon the 
plain. In an opposite direction flew they, and as they 
flew they sang. 

And lightnings writhed around the rock on which 
Klan stood: and he felt the earth tremble beneath 
his feet. 

And the mountain, as it were a tree, grew under 
him, bearing him aloft and higher and higher above 
the earth. 

Now he saw the dense forests which lie beyond 
the plains, and the oceans which lie beyond the for- 
ests, and the mountains which lie beyond the oceans. 

And Klan heard the voice of all these also calling 
him, and his heart grew faint within him. 

But the mountain grew on beneath him, and 
raised him still higher. 

And the birds were far beneath him, and their 
flight was like unto a great disk spinning below. 

Still the mountain grew under him, and Klan 
passed through the veil of clouds which shield the 
earth from the great light, up into the realm of stars. 
And the glory of the heavens lay around him, and 
the stars like fierce globes of fire flew about him, and 

39 



as he left them below him, they all called to him, 
saying, 

Put us also into thy image of God. 

And the veil of heaven was rent asunder, 

And the brightness of the sun paled before the 
greater glory, and Klan saw the spirits of all them 
who have life, ascending and descending from hea- 
ven: those which have died saw he them, and those 
which are not yet born. 

And their number was that of the leaves in spring- 
time, their number was that of the snows in winter, 
and the quickness of their flight was as of eagles 
falling. 

All these, too, as with one voice called to him, 
and their voices joined those of the stars, and from 
below arose all the other voices. 

With that of the deep mingled the voice of le- 
viathan. 

With the sound of the tempest came the song of 
the souls. 

And the clouds and the lightnings, and the whirl- 
wind and the forest, and the beasts and the comets, 
and the birds and earthquake, all joined the first call 
of the earth, and cried out — Klan! 

And Klan wrung his hands together in anguish, 
and answered in terror, What would ye ? 

And they with one voice answered and said, Put 
us also into thy image of God. 

And again the angel stood before Klan. And the 
feet of the angel were upon the earth, and the head 
of him towered far above Klan into the higher 
heaven. 

And the eyes of the angel were as thunderclouds, 
and the sword in his hand like lightnings: and he 
40 



cried with the voice of the cataract, saying, 

I am but the least of His messengers, but carve 
thou me also into thy image of God. 

And with a great cry the angel smote the heavens 
from end to end. From the east to the west straight 
overhead swung he his blazing sword, and vanished. 

And behold, the firmament fell apart, and Klan 
stood alone in the immensity of the vast abyss. 

And there was silence. 

And there came into the silence a whisper as it 
were from everywhere, saying, 

Put me also into thy image of God. 

And Klan knew that he was before his God, and 
he took the old image from his script and smote it 
upon the rock: with the hands that made it did he 
break the image, and cast it from him. 

And Klan fell upon his face, and prayed before 
the God which is God. 



THE THING TO BE DONE 



CHARACTERS 



ALLAND 
THE COUNT 

ROMONA 

VILAIS 

ILAIA 

ANTENOR 



A young man 

His daughter 
A princess 



THE THING TO BE DONE 

ACT FIRST 

Ocene. A terrace of the count's castle. At the rear a bal- 
ustrade, beyond which one sees a fertile valley dotted with farms. 
In the distance a dense forest, [morning.] 

vi lais is discovered idly leaning on the balustrade ; ro- 
mona, seated on a stone bench, is reading a letter. 

rom on a [reads'] "Jewels burned upon her breast, jewels 
blazed within her hair ; she wore a crown of 
glittering gold, two pages held her purple robe, 
and a marshal walked before. And as I courte- 
sied, poor little me, before the queen, my mind 
flew back to thoughts of you and of the dull 
routine at home. I longed to have you realize 
for a moment what life is in its reality." 
Oh, would that I could go to court, could see the 
men who rule the world and the women whom 
such men love. Ah, would that I could see the 
queen ! 

vi lais She has a mole upon her nose ! 

romona Vilais ! 

vi lais Her ankles are thick. She walks like this. 

romona But still she is the queen ! "Jewels blazed in her 
hair"! 

vilais She'd give half her jewels for your hair. 

romona It is easy for one who knows such life to scoff at 
gaiety; I was not born a princess. 

vilais Ah, Romona, they do not always dance who move 
their leaden feet to music. 

romona Yes, I suppose great lives must pay great penal- 
ties ; but trouble is a much maligned mistress, 



45 



and ofttimes, bringing duty in her train, serves 
for a cause, a reason, or an excuse for better 
things. Could you but live my dreary life, — a 
dull monotonous waste of days, the same eternal 
rocks and trees, the same eternal sky! What 
means a life which holds no needs, no joys, no 
duties, and ... no men ? 

vi lais But you have needs, for do you not lack men? 
And you have joy in dreaming of a life exis- 
tent only in your dreams. Peasants and lands 
are duties with us both, but in a different scale. 
And as for men, is there not one in all the coun- 
try-side ? 

rom on a Not one. Aye, there is one. He might as well 
not be. 

vilais Tell me of him. 

romona He is a recluse. 
[She reads] 

vilais Oh! Who lives there in that house, so far away, 
which like a plum lies glowing golden in among 
the green ? 

romona Some peasant. 

vilais [looking over the balustrade] What a dear little boy ! 
Good-morning, little boy. 

romona [reading] Oh, oh! How beautiful! 

vilais Won't you please come and talk to me? No? Yet 
you like me, do you not ? I will throw you down 
a rose, with — see, this kiss, and you will keep 
it always for my sake ? Ah, say you will, else 
my poor heart will break. But, little boy, do not 
have dusty feet. 

romona What are you doing? 

vilais Why, by my eyes, he's run away and left my 
favour ! 
46 






romona As well flirt with a gargoyle here ; at least it will 
return your smile. 

vi lais Run, run, little friend, though half the realm 
would fight for that poor rose. Run, little cow- 
ard ; yet I liked your eyes. Heigh-ho ! 

romona [reads] "And then he led me to a dark recess and 
took my hand, and said so tenderly I could not 
doubt, 'I who am so used to court, and love, 
and women, before your beauty have lost all 
the arts of speech, and can but hope that you 
will understand, believe, and accept my silence 
as my choicest offering.' " 

vi la is What did he say? 

romona "Accept my silence as my choicest offering." 

vi lais She would do well to do so. 

romona Does then romantic life wipe romance from your 
nature ? Where now that spirit which has made 
you loved and feared and famous, to let you mope 
about in this provincial place and scoff at beauty? 

vi lais It is a pretty phrase. 

romona [reads] "E'er I could know, could guess what he 
would do, he took me in his arms and kissed 
my lips." Ah ... ! 

vilais Ah — 

romona [reads] "Dear sister, you cannot understand. Yet 
I am troubled, for it was " — [she turns the leaf] 
Oh ! Why — it was Lord . . . 

vilais Dearest, you needs must be more nimble with your 
tongue to read court news. 

romona It was Lord . . . 

vilais It was the Grand Duke Loren — the plighted hus- 
band of your humble guest. 

romona No, no, it was Lord . . . Oh, forgive me, dear 
Vilais ! I did not mean to hurt. 

47 



vi lais It is the third time he has used those words to my 
most certain knowledge. It did not hurt. 

rom on a Not since you were betrothed? 

vi lais Aye, since we were betrothed. 

rom on a How can that be? Does he not love you? 

vi lais Love me? He loves my beauty, or any beauty, so 
'tis near and not yet his ! Loves me ? He loves 
the power and the gold which like two ser- 
pents writhe about me. Love ! Do not all men 
love "the great, the rich, the beautiful Prin- 
cess Vilais"? Bah! I early knew such love ! 

rom on a Vilais! You have taken down the veil. You love 
him even less than that. 

vilais He is not worse than other men. And then our 
properties adjoin for miles and miles and miles. 
There is no help for it. Ah, yes ... I love 
him. 

romona But it is horrible! What of your life, your joy? 
What of your love, where will that be ? 

vilais I came here that I might forget just for a moment 
where it will all be — to forget that in a day or 
two the beauty and the joy of which all women 
dream I shall renounce forever. Ah, dearest, 
what will it be ? A little more perhaps, a little 
less, than yesterday. Some day you '11 come to 
me at court, and after years, say one, or two, 
or ten, you will return to this old terrace wall, 
and throw a rose down to a peasant lad ; and 
as, with honest eyes, he looks at you adoringly, 
you '11 learn somewhat of love . . . because he 
runs away. 

romona Ah! dearest . . . 

vilais No, no; it is . . . quite . . . nothing. 
[Enter count] 
48 



count Ah, here you are! Two morning-glories on my 

grim old wall. 
vi lais Did you not promise yesterday to take me early 

to the fields, show me your herds, your crops 

and peasantry ? Have you forgotten ? 
count Even within these forests which mark the almost 

unknown borders of your realm, there is no one 

who'd prove so unresponsive. Unless, indeed, 

'twere he I have just left. 
rom on a You have just left? 
vi lais Your exception sparkles for one who, sickened 

with much flattery, seeks sincerity, however 

crude. Pray, who is he ? 
count He sent for me at midnight. 
romona At midnight! You went to his house? 
count But no more than ever was I favoured with his 

hospitality. He met me at his gates. No more 

than others could I gain a glimpse of what may 

lie beyond, 
vi lais Is this an emissary from some distant land who 

with a secret mission flees the court and hides 

in hamlets? 
romona No. 

vi lais A noble, then, who travels in disguise? 
romona No, no. 

vi lais A cloistered monk buried beneath his books? 
romona No, no, again, 
vi la is Who, then, whom noblemen obey at midnight, 

and yet are not received ? 
count There is no cause to fear our loyalty. 
romona He is no courtier. 
count Though indeed he has the simple nature of true 

royalty. 
vi la is Old men may be forgiven much. 

49 



rom on a He is not old. 

count Youth or old man, I know not which, his know- 
ledge and his powers so belie his years. 

vi lais You speak in riddles. 

count We speak of riddles. He lives there in the forest; 
the yellow gables of his house can scarce be 
seen from here save by far-searching and per- 
sistent eyes. 

vilais He is a — recluse? 

count Yes, and yet his life is spent in the market-place. 
A man with open hand and heart, but one who 
so hides his private life that naught is known 
of him save that he works for others. He has a 
wondrous sympathy for all that's good; is ever 
ready for great sacrifice of time or trouble. Seem- 
ing contented ever, his only woe apparently lies 
in his pity for them who lament that he has no 
troubles — no need of their assistance in return. 
He has the mighty powers of the self-contained, 
the superhuman strength of earnestness. 

rom on a The peasants say he is a wizard, and that behind 
his walls most wondrous things occur. 

count They are a superstitious folk. He is a gentleman, 
a scholar too, deep read in strange and occult 
mysteries. And yet he spends his life in work- 
ing for the poor. He gives them all. 

vilais Except his hospitality? 

count It is true that no one has ever crossed his thresh- 
old, but he renders to the world the statement 
of a well-spent life. 

rom on a Yet no one knows what may transpire there. 

count Whatever a man seems to conceal is ever specu- 
lated on by lesser minds ; perhaps 'tis this which 
urges us on to improvement. Because no one has 
So 



ever passed his walls, the peasants have woven a 
story concerning the life he leads behind them. 
'Tis said that their gloomy faces are but masks 
which hide such halls of marble and gold and 
crystal that few can conceive their glory. Within 
the maze-like colonnades a vast and wondrous 
garden has sprung up by his own effort; and 
they believe that it is his remembrance of the 
beauties of this pleasaunce which gives him 
strength to help them bear the pain and ugli- 
ness and trouble of the world in which they live. 

vi lais A strange man truly. 

rom on a A man if he is honest will not close his doors 
against all the world. 

vilais A man, if he be man, must gain respite from the 
surrounding ills. 

rom on a He sets himself above the rest of us and his un- 
selfishness doth savour of conceit. He gives, 'tis 
true, and yet I feel his gifts are not of his best 
self. 

vilais Hath he no friends, no comrade; hath he no mis- 
tress ? 

romona He seems a lonely man, although, indeed, he may 
have a hundred houris hidden behind his walls. 

count He hath at least a heart no woman has assailed suc- 
cessfully. You see, she 's tried. Oh, no, now, little 
daughter . . . Oh, ha, ha, ha. Now it's fortunate 
the princess's heart is full of love for her gal- 
lant, else even she, spite all her charms, might 
contribute to the stream of tears which ever 
flows down from his hill-top. Ha, ha, ha. 
\Exit count] 

vilais There is no man so self-contained but if a woman 
take him unaware will open up his heart, and 

5i 



like a boy prate of his dreams. So this is your 

recluse. 
romona Vilais, I beg you will not encumber me with him, 

even as a jest. 
vilais Oh, do not give him up too soon. A woman's great- 
est strength is a belief in her own powers. 
rom on a Doubtless to you he'd fall an easy victim. Your 

arts of eye and hand are understood but poorly 

by us who live more simple lives. 
vilais Well, when you come to court you will find many 

willing guides — if you will learn — 
romona I find there is no place however humble where 

I cannot learn somewhat of men. 
vilais So it would seem. 
romona A pity 'tis that, as my father said, your heart is 

full — 
vilais Romona! 
romona For you would fail and learn somewhat, even in 

our humble home. 
vilais If I failed as completely as you've forgot yourself 

I should indeed be vanquished. 
romona Oh, you would fail, quite miserably. 
vilais What, with your peasant ? 
romona He is no peasant. He would read your thoughts, 

and all your wiles would only make him laugh 

behind walls you could not even see. 
vilais Send for him. I'll wind him like silk around a 

bobbin. 
romona Send for him! My peasant! Why, he would not 

come at your command ! 
vilais Well, he is safer so. 
romona Here in the wilds a beauty's boast rings false, 

Vilais. Here the value of your virtues is not that 

of court ; and you with all your "charm," with 
52 



all your skill at intrigue, cannot even gain an 
audience with a man who would spend half his 
nights with a sick goatherd. 

vi lais I think, my dear, that you have lost your temper. 

romona I only know whereof I speak. There are some 
things which are not learned at court. My tem- 
per, oh dear, no ! Though it annoys me to find 
you set such store by all that you could do, when 
I would wager anything you could not even 
make him speak to you. 

vi lais A wager? That gives your words a semblance of 
reality. What shall it be? 

romona Oh, anything. You cannot win. 

vi lais A velvet gown? 

romona I know the man, Vilais. A wager will be but a 
present and I choose your presents from a better 
mood. 

vilais My mood is merely that of a woman who is sick 
of being praised for a " beauty " and a "charm " 
which have brought naught but hollow satisfac- 
tion ; and who finds here, most unexpectedly, 
an opportunity to test her powers. Here is a 
last chance to see what they can be made to do, 
for though I shall owe the duke nothing, yet 
my own conceit will prevent it by and by. 
Oh, I care nothing for your velvet gown, but I 
would see, will see, if this secluded peasant 
man of yours is proof against what the old Lord 
Chancellor has called "the greatest assets of 
the kingdom." My "beauty" and my "charm" 
have saved my people from a war, and as a wo- 
man I so hate my "beauty" and my "charm" 
for it that I would see them crushed and put 
to shame, and my belief in man restored again. 

53 



Yet he will fawn like all the rest. 

Why, I will add a string of pearls that he not only 
talks to me, but shows me all his treasures and his 
gardens, too, if they exist. And I will bring you 
back a flower, or his miniature set in a golden 
frame, which he with trembling, outstretched 
hand will have given me at parting. 

He shall not even kiss my gown, and yet I '11 wager 
yet another gown that he will tell me I am she 
for whom he waited. 

Oh, it is amazing how many men have found in 
me the one for whom they've waited. 

Vilais, you 're mad. We are children to quarrel so 
over nothing. It was my fault — forgive me. 

I would thank you rather; at last I find an interest 
in the world again. 

If you look at him like that I doubt not you will 
win. Come, dear, forget it all. 

I do believe you fear for him ! No, I like your re- 
cluse and his hidden glory. 
rom on a And so you'll try to break his heart and mar a 
noble life ! 

Did you not say he 'd broken many ? It will but 
make him more considerate. Besides, what if 
you do upset men's lives a little ; what do they 
give for all we offer or surrender ? Naught of 
themselves but whispers and a kiss — when they 
are so inclined. Oh, we are justified in leading 
selfish men through a fool's dance, just as they 
do with us. 

I 'm filled with sudden dread for you, Vilais — not 
for him, for there are things the court may learn 
from our cold country-side, — things which, 
like the forest there, are bordering upon other 

54 



ROMONA 



ROMONA 



VILAIS 



VILAIS 



ROMONA 



realms. He has walls about himself as well as 
round his garden, and he watches you from be- 
hind their impenetrable sides. 
vi lais And laughs, no doubt. Well, we will topple his 
walls down. 
I have seen men like that before, dear little cousin. 

I feel a girl again. 
[Exit] 
romona Ah, but, Vilais! You won't — Vilais ! 



CURTAIN 



55 



ACT SECOND 

Ocene first. A bare stone vaulted chamber in alland's 
house in the forest. There is a small door at the rear, but no other 
opening. 

A table at the left supports a large crystal retort upon a tripod, 
other chemical apparatus, and books, candles, &c. In the centre 
is a couch covered with the skins of beasts; beside it stands a chair. 

[a l l a n d enters in a state of great fatigue'] 
all and Secret chamber of repose, I scarcely had the 
strength to force my weary frame to you again ! 
Never before has the grasping world demanded 
such tribute. As a great darkness rolls league 
upon league about a tiny flame, so have earth's 
miseries encompassed me, drawn out and swal- 
lowed up and sapped my feeble rays. 

[He sinks upon the chair] 

O thou omniscient Power, who so ordainest for the 
relief of them who dare the endless search, what 
of my sacrifice ? Have I attained refreshment 
and encouragement? 

[A sound as of a muffled bell] 

Ah ! Rest at last. Quick now — tne conjuration — 
and release. I — I cannot rise. I can do no more ! 
A fool, who, given gold, lifts more than he can 
carry. I — I've overtaxed my strength — I can- 
not rise. 

[vilais enters] 
vilais He turned in here, I am quite sure, for I have 
followed all his wavering steps. This is their 
vaunted "haven of delight : " hollow like all the 
rest. Would I could find one bubble made of 
stuff to stand one touch. 'T would take two vel- 
vet gowns to ward this chill which, like that 
56 



rising from the earth at sunset, strikes the first 
note of dissolution, ere the winter comes. 

allan d Are you some new temptation which fatigue ex- 
aggerates, or a reward for greater efforts, or a 
new guide which, in the unfolding of my char- 
acter, the Force now first reveals ? 
What need, what unexpressed desire, now brings 
you forth from beyond the borders of my mind, 
unbidden ? 
With the reality of most constant effort you re- 
main before me. Your presence thrills me and 
your purpose dazes, you, who appear without 
surroundings in my unenchanted chamber. 

v i l a i s I — I 'm lost. I — I am no vision, as your wander- 
ing eyes would seem to state. I'm staying at 
the Count's. 

a l l a n d You are still chained ! Woman ? What do you here ? 

vilais I'm staying at the castle. This morning as I rode I 
took a lane which led into a thicket. Idle, I cared 
not where it went, till, weary, I endeavoured to 
return and found that my few deviations formed 
a barrier 'twixt me and the familiar ways. 

all and Well? 

vilais I saw you pass your formidable walls, and as my 
oft-repeated call remained unanswered — and 
as you left your door ajar — and as you seemed 
of gentle blood — and as, you see, I must return 
— I followed you. Will you not help me? 

allan d Is there still more for me to do? But I am strong 
enough for each demand, up to the end ! 
Aye, I will lead you back ; come, let us go. 

vilais His face is pale and drawn as if by many griefs. 
Time need not press your evident fatigue, — a 
moment rest. 

SI 



a l l a n d If I refuse your call, it may be I shall never rest again. 

vilais Can you rest here, — in this bare room? 

all and In this bare room ? Aye, here I rest, alone. Come, 
let us go. 

vilais Truly, your rudeness would imply a fear to have 
me here. 

all and Aye, I do fear to have you here. 

vilais Do you then think me dangerous? 

Could I but make him look at me — 

all and Why should fate leave a man's stronghold so un- 
disturbed for days, only to bring a wanderer on 
the hour when he is too weary to point out the 
path, or to protect himself? 

vilais Why, one would think I were an armed band, 
come for your jewels. 

a l l a n d Aye, you will shortly ask for them. 

I have no more to give — here and to-day. Come, 
you must go. 

vilais Oh! you are insolent! Rest, then, beside your 
hoard; I '11 find the way alone. 

allan d Let my fatigue gain your forgiveness. You came 
upon me suddenly, and here, where no one en- 
ters, I have forgot to think of others.; here I 
overlook the way and etiquette which rule the 
world outside. 

vilais Am I so terrible, for you to be afraid? 

alland The evening, which will soon descend, will make 
the forest frown. I am delighted to be of service 
to you. Come, let me lead you back to my good 
friend the Count. 

vilais This is defeat ! 

Yes, let us go. You are so kind — I fear — I am — 

a little weary too, I — 
[S 'he falls upon the couch] 
58 



a l l a n d You faint ! 

vi lais 'Tis very foolish. 

all and I was too selfish not to see — to realize how weary 
you must be. Drink this. A moment, you'll be 
well again. 

vi lais I am even now — quite well. Come, let us go — 
the way is long, I can — I think — e'en go alone. 
How childish thus to lose my way and trouble 
you who are so kind. Now I can go. 

all and Nay, quiet lie a moment on this rug. This skin 
once through a southern jungle waste went 
weaving in and out between aspiring palm and 
crouching cactus, a tapestry of wild barbaric life; 
crept under fluttering shades, and in the droning 
noon slept beside pools unknown save to those 
creatures wild as itself, who fled the towns. This 
I will put beneath your head — 't is whiter even 
than your brow ; 't was all the poor bear had, 
these few long hairs, a covering he perforce 
grew for himself to keep him from the cold 
which poured from icy mountains round upon 
the plain where he was doomed to live. So do 
I often lie, and think of their so different lives, 
and of how in the end they both so serve my 
need — and yours now that you too have need 
of them. 

vilais Can these, warm though they be, then satisfy 
your needs ? Are you not lonesome here ? 

all and Lonesome! No. Are you refreshed? 

vilais Why do you wish to rid yourself of me ? 

allan d I fear. 

vilais Fear? 

allan d I fear for you. 

vilais For me! Of what am I in danger? 

59 



a l l a n d Of being burned. 

vi lais In truth a little fire in your gloomy house would 

tempt me with its cheerfulness. 
alland We are not burned by fire alone; but there are 

other elements, which, held in check, warm 

those who may stand by, but uncontrolled, like 

flames, burn to a crisp the child who plays with 

them, 
vi lais [sitting up] Oh, the world's censure ! A mock vir- 
tue smear the maidenhood which you would 

not defile ? I fear not what the world may say 

if I but trust the man. 
alland The danger of the world's word lies not in itself, 

but in our reading of it. I fear not that, 
vi lais I do not understand. 
alland There would be no danger if you did. Would 

that you did ! 
vi lais That I might stay with you? 
alland That you might find yourself, 
vi lais [rising] Am I so much a burden then? If being 

lost — 
alland You do not understand, 
vi la is Is it so hard to send me back? 
alland It is so much easier to lead you on. 
vilais Only half answering each question, you seem to 

answer more than all I ask. 
alland Our words are but the symbols of the lives we 

lead. 
vilais Is then your life as unusual as your speech? I 

verily believe it is. 
Tell me of the life you lead. 
alland Is it fate or my own foolishness which forces me 

to speak and stimulate the very senses I would 

stifle? 
60 



vi lais Why do my simple words so fill you with despair ? 
I asked no idle question then. A sudden feeling, 
— I know not what, — a desire to understand 
a certain good I feel in you, swept over me. 

all and It is inevitable! Must I then, trembling with fa- 
tigue, still be assailed for that poor power which 
I would willingly impart did it not cause dam- 
nation. No, no, ask not. Come, I will lead you 
back, back to the life you understand; here that 
life and all its temporary standards are forgot. 
Here all is different, and they who in strange 
houses force unopen doors may pay a dreadful 
penalty. The imminence of my own responsi- 
bility and of your peril overwhelms me. Then 
let me lead you back again unchanged. I have 
not strength enough to teach you now — and 
you — you know not what you ask. 
[He sinks fainting upon the couc/?\ 

vi lais This is no simulated faint! His face is pale and 
drawn, as by the grief of others. What outward 
toil to have so wearied him ; what inward strug- 
gle to have furrowed so his brow ; what mind 
under this forehead, cold beneath my hand ! 
What wild words, what passioned kiss, might 
those lips not give when once enkindled ! 
Ah no, move not awhile, drink this — I did not 
need it all. See how some succour yet may come 
from strangers. And I will lay this over you, it 
is far softer than your sinewy hand ; perchance 
because it came from lands not hot nor cold, and 
was caressed by loving friends. I am a woman, 
and as a woman know your weariness and would 
have you rest. 

all and I may not rest ! 

61 



v i l a i s Nay, nay, you are not strong enough to rise. Why, 
when I first appeared you thought I was a dream. 
Do you remember ? And you hailed my presence 
with delight ? And now, as I lean over you, why 
do you tremble ? Can the hands of your dream 
maidens smooth your forehead with a softer 
touch? You see, I 'm jealous of them — yet I 
like your fancies : they seem more pure and 
beautiful than those of the world, out there — 
so far away. 

alland Ah, you are able to go on, and I should not pre- 
vent you ; I could not now even if I would. I 
can read your course behind your eyes. You 
know not what you do. 

v i l a i s Yes, I understand much better now, you and your 
room, and how you rest in it : for I have seen 
its gray walls with accustomed eyes. 
For here the world is far away, and there are times, 
so many times, when one is very weary of it 
all, and would escape, yet there it hangs over 
us, coffining our thoughts and a&s — and even 
duties. Then it would be good indeed to have 
a haven, which however bare, garrisoned only 
by our better selves, would be a citadel in times 
of trouble : a resting-place to which even in 
spirit only we could fly, — there perhaps to take 
some friendly hand in ours — know that its 
pressure is sincere, gaze into eyes and find the 
light of sympathy ; find some one always there 
to whose vast understanding I could bring per- 
plexities, and watch them disappear in the deep 
shadows of a night in which there was no fear. 
I envy you. 

alland Strong minds can formulate no wish too great for 
62 



their accomplishment ; meaner ones attain the 

resultant of diverse desires. 
You, running on your path, have, crossing mine, 

glanced at the book I hold, and long to read, 
v i l a i s I 've seen new truths there glinting across my view, 

like cobwebs blowing in the wind. 
a l land That middle page you see, preceded, followed by 

a thousand more, contains but slight suggestions 

of the story's whole, 
vi lais But one who in a valley sudden hears the soaring 

overtones of bounding hills must climb, and 

find — 
a l l a n d Mountain upon mountain rolled, making new out- 
lines for his world. 
vi lais And I — I do not know the way. And you — you 

do not turn the page ; and I — as I look in your 

eyes — Oh, I do not even know your alphabet. 
allan d The alphabet is learned by being honest, 
vi lais By being honest? 
alland Honest, 
vi lais Honest!! 
alland Truly you've learned but little, to be offended 

at a word whose meaning here is not that of 

the world outside. 
vilais Honest. 
alland Here, though each separate acl be weighed, yet is 

sincerity to one's self spontaneous. 
vilais Oh, yes, yes. I do know what you mean. I — I had 

forgotten my part, that 's all. 
alland Your part? 
vilais Yes, and you've sent me back already — to the 

antipodes. 
alland I have recalled old standards? 
vilais My standards are contemptible ! Yet how should 

63 



I know that you — Oh, now I realize that I 
must go — and I have still, thank God, suffi- 
cient of your honesty to, ere I go, apologize. 

alland Apologize? 

vi lais For my deception — I am not lost. 

ALLAND Not lost? 

vi lais I came here on a wager of a velvet gown, — be- 
cause I heard that you were unapproachable. 
I came here gambling that I would conquer 
you — I was not lost. 

alland Aye, you were lost. Far strayed again from the 
familiar paths. May I have strength ! 

vi lais And now I leave you, you whom I should like to 
know, and leave this room, the mystery of which 
has only just begun to fade. I may not remain 
to learn of that new world at whose threshold 
I am conscious of now standing. 
How often have I wondered if this would come 
to me, and if it came, how come ; and now the 
light of that which my intuition has ever taught 
most rare and sacred exposes all the hollowness 
of my worst nature. I know it, and I go — re- 
specting you and humbly asking pardon — I, 
who am the Princess Vilais. 

alland The Princess Vilais! 

vilais And I apologize. 

alland Poor child. 

vilais Why do you say that? 

alland Because you are so far from home. 

vilais You make a jest of me ! 

alland Nay — you have begun to learn your alphabet 
from your own life. 

vilais My life ! My life ! ! What is my life but a vain fol- 
lowing of other people's lives and whims and 
64 



fancies, of veneered welcomes, of futile regrets ? 
Is it my life to live their hollow happiness, their 
blind despair ; pretending a belief in their un- 
satisfying gods, pretending obedience to the 
laws which I see made with slanting eyes and 
grasping fingers ? Is it my life to promise fealty 
to a man I loathe, and prostitute my chastity to 
my own husband ? Is it my life to walk one 
little path cut through a boundless forest by those 
who also without compass happen to have gone 
before ? 

alland I have recalled old standards ! 

vi lais But with them you have also raised up new. I see 
them waving in the wind, hear sounds of roll- 
ing drums and calling trumpets; and legions 
of thoughts, so long absent as to be forgot, arise 
within my mind and call for leadership. From 
the far distant fields strange scouts approach — 
to pause reading half recognition in my bewil- 
dered eyes. I cry aloud to them, but even to 
myself my voice seems strange, and they fly back 
— are lost — yet not rejected. 

alland After the winter how the little springs all bubble 
up at once and form a rushing river. 

v i l a i s And you, and such as you, who have a knowledge of 
a better life, could grasp these fleeting thoughts, 
marshal these hosts and lead me on to victory, 
lie here and guard your "jewels," eat a full 
meal, while just beyond your gates lie thou- 
sands who with lives, with minds, with possi- 
bilities like mine are starving. 

alland Have you not read within some peasant maiden's 
wondering look all of her dream of you and of 
your life ? She sees her dreams shadowed upon 

65 



the world's hard wall, her own innocence re- 
flected in the lake. 
Why do you not show her a day of glory at the 
court and send her back with her illusion so- 
lidified into a glittering reality? Would she not 
then see all your days spent like her one ? Could 
she then understand the penalty you pay, or 
realize that the day, so bright to her, by you 
was tolerated, nay, to some extent enjoyed, not 
for itself, but on account of the prospect of its 
close ? Could you teach her to rule the court of 
which she sees only the surface? Would you 
not by such an acl: retard a life which, undis- 
turbed, might day by day improve, and grow to 
its own fulness? 
Think you to find in another life freedom from 
penalties, from temptations and from laws ? 

vi lais Like a fish so caught within a net it could not 
quiver I would lie entangled by a thousand 
laws, could I but see some aim and end to them. 
But if there are not broader laws than those I 
help to make outside, then is our living vain. 

allan d But greater laws entail more onerous penalties. 
'Tis but a difference in scale. 

vilais And I would rise to them ! 

Oh, it is pitiful to stand and plead — I, who came 
to conquer you and win a gown — to have my 
vision turned into reality. But I believe that 
you are one of those of whom I 've found sug- 
gestions hidden in my books ; in the far-fixed 
eyes of strangers. Suggestions ? Fleeting, mad- 
dening glimpses of a land far brighter, higher, 
purer than my world. 
The trivialities and falsities and discords which 
66 



have made up my past life, like a dike built 
out of refuse by some careless hand, are now by a 
wave of anguish swept utterly away. Have you 
no duty to her who, helped on by fate, has 
passed your adamantine walls in the moment 
of her greatest need ? Can you deny a stranger 
asking for direction to the life you 've found ? 

To mine, miserable before, now is return impos- 
sible. If there are penalties, I '11 gladly pay them 
all, run all the risks of being "burned," and 
promise you to bear the full brunt of all, with- 
out complaint. 

Oh, pity me, for I am blind, and see no other light ; 
and I am great, and am enthralled by custom ; 
and rich, and enwrapped by knavery and guile ; 
and beautiful, and weary of lascivious eyes ; 
and I am a woman needing sympathy. 

If there is aught in this bright garden which I 've 
caught a sight of through your open door, then 
show it me, for I am faint, disconsolate, fatigued, 
discouraged and alone. 

[j4 sound as of a muffled bell] 
allan d How often in the future's more complicated web 
you may regret is now no cause of mine. You 
have not only knocked, but also entered. I will 
refresh you with the cup which either glorifies or 
damns you by the grace with which you drink. 
Burden or joy, you must henceforth go on, not 
unto "death," but to a thousand years beyond. 

[He throws a black cloak about the princess, and donning 
a white one himself he leads her to the table. He lights 
a lamp under the retort into which he puts dust and 
water] 

Stand here. Now, within the mystic circle, the 

6 7 



sacred pentagram I draw. Water, lie beneath 
the earth, which I now also pour. Again the 
water upon the earth, sealed with the sign of 
All. 
Now the fiercely burning fire soon will drive in a 
downward course through this liquor, the va- 
pour to rise and to dissolve in air. See, it boils ! 
Our fire alone keeps the primeval flood from 
making back. Now, as I restrain the flame, see 
the mighty flood ascending to the void. You 
now stand on the verge. The kingdoms of the 
earth will soon appear before you — but to re- 
nounce. Will you go on ? 

vilais I — let me hold your hand! — I will go on. 

all and Silence, then. See, see, see! 

[He extinguishes the flame, A terrific explosion follows, 
and the escaping steam obscures everything from sight] 

ucene second. Above the earth. A shaft of light is seen 
increasing in brightness, and as the steam evaporates, ilaia is 
discovered seated upon a soft gray bank. Her hands are clasped 
around her knees, she is looking up into the sky. Behind her there 
is nothing but sky; sky also seems to extend far beneath her. 
a l l a n d and vilais stand at one side in darkness. 

ilaia That golden glory, shrouding this from higher 
heavens, just now as I lay resting in its peace, 
did seem like a soft silky veil to wave aside, to 
part like filmy smoke reached by the sighing 
breath of sleepy winds. And there, within the 
deeper blue, looked out a face I knew, looked 
out at me — and smiled. The face of one I knew 
— in Herculaneum. The face of one I knew, 
once knew — and wronged. 
68 



Often when wandering in the flesh, in that life 
of dark forgetfulness below, I have passed him 
— have striven to remember him, striven to re- 
call what this one, wandering too and seeming 
strange, has been to me. Weak beings, less tim- 
orous of structures built upon their stones than 
on their souls ! 
Great Power, when again this period of rest is 
o'er, and I, again refreshed, return again to a 
material form, help Thou my recollection of 
this life and of its beauty, that I may pass my 
period of toil in clearer knowledge of Thy way 
and help thereby to raise myself, and help 
thereby to raise all else, unto those planes which 
I can now see shine above in the lustre of their 
own accomplishment and their ever-hearing 
union with the will of God. 

vi lais Where are we? 

a l l a n d On the outskirts of that land which you call "Hea- 
ven." 

antenor \above\ Ilaia ! 

i lai a So was I called in Herculaneum. 
[Enter antenor] 

anten. Ilaia! 

ilaia Again! 

And I have waited, — ah, but patiently. For even 
my yearning for thee, and that forgiveness of 
which I was so sure, has helped me strive to be 
more worthy thy return. 

anten. Ilaia, thy belief rises like incense from some pea- 
sant's light in ever-thickening cloud, until in 
ecstasy his rapt eyes gaze only upon his sense of 
what lies there before. 

vi lai s That voice? It called to me but yesternight in 
slumber ! 69 



ilaia Thou needs not tell me all that thou hast done, 
how far upon the path which leads thee from 
me thou hast gone ; for this, my soul is ever 
near to thee as it is now, my spirit ever feels 
the throb of thine whatever thou mayst do. 

alland No need of explanation ; here there is no passion, no 
fear and no regret. 

anten. What satisfaction must be thine to know that I 
take this by thy right, not by mine own — that 
I do so fully understand — that thou art so con- 
scious of thy life and I of mine, that we in our 
appointed moments take all that we can give ; 
and then, until the wheel revolves again, wait, 
without interruption, even in forgetfulness. 
And when in these periods of forgetfulness the 
thought of thee comes, winging like the shadow 
of a bird, there is no sense of pain or sorrow or 
thought that thou mayst fear, or, whatsoever 
I do, doubt my belief in thee. And that secur- 
ity, like a moment's ease in lingering pain, en- 
ables me to catch through thy pure soul, as 
through a crystal, a fleeting glimpse of this real 
life ; to softly sigh and fall asleep, e'en knowing 
morning will bring pain again. 

vi lais If this be even the farthest borderland of heaven 
why does he speak of pain ? 

alland He slowly sinks from higher heavens, through this, 
to be reborn again. 

ilaia When thy arms grow weak with the toil of thy 
appointed path, then will mine tighten to better 
strengthen thee for thy great duty. Then will 
my spirit cry to thine, not so much for thee for 
myself, as that I may take my place, do my full 
service in the work of worlds, attain my end, and 
70 






give repose to them who have a larger work to 
do. 

v i l a i s Spirit or woman, whatsoever you are, I crave your 
sympathy. 

alland She may not hear your words. 

anten. Somewhere within that ever-dark'ning void be- 
low, rolling its courses, flies the system of the 
sun. Back to some planet of its puny way I must 
depart, back to that penitentiary to work out 
further freedom, or to form new habits and be 
passions' further slave. Back to a dull being of 
distorted soul, groping an unknown passage in 
adarkened world, striving in ignorance and fear 
'gainst the chimera — time. 
With senses striving to overthrow even the slight 
remembrance I shall then hold of heaven, bat- 
tling against ignorance and greed more awful 
than my own, fighting a seeming useless fight 
'gainst them who have forgotten more than I. 
Ah, Ilaia, as I sink down my perception grows less 
clear, and more and more I suffocate in ever- 
thickening atmospheres, forgetting more and 
more of my real self, until I pass that whirling 
fog of stultifying air, in which even the bright 
liberated ones returning home flash by and mean 
to my solidifying sense but flying sparks of light. 
And then the long, dull, painful sleep. 

vi lais Speaks he of death? 

alland He speaks of what in your world you call "life." 

anten. Whom, in a space they measure there on earth by 
days, shall I encounter? 

vi lais He cried last night within my dreams! 
I know your voice ! 

alland He may not hear. 

71 



anten. Brothers to be who are there now upon the earth, do 
ye not still remember somewhat of your life with 
us ? Enough to help me in those early days which 
will so soon enwrap me in a rotting robe of flesh. 
Not for myself alone I call to you, whoever ye may 
be, or paupers or princes matters not ; for plea- 
sure or pain, it matters not; but to you, sinking 
as I fall asleep, I cry the last prayer of the soul 
descending, to help me not forget the life which 
ye in your forgetfulness call death. 

vi lais Now by that voice I recognize as springing from 
my inward being, I conjure you to speak to me ! 
Surely there is no God, no power great enough 
to grant me ears to hear your cry from heaven, 
who will not grant my prayer. 

i lai a Who may this be, through whose dark frame the 
light so fails to penetrate ? 

anten. You are still chained ! 
Woman ? 
What do you here ? 

all and I brought her here. 

i lai a Hail, Master! 

anten. Hail, Brother! 

all and She on a tortuous path had lost her way. 

ilaia Did she not know? 

all and Nothing. 

anten. Hast thou done wisely, Brother? 

vi lais Yes, yes, oh, yes, for he has raised me up. I do not 
know what fearful penalty he pays, what an- 
guish he may undergo through this, his act. I 
only know that he has opened for me gates thro' 
which such splendour pours that I am strong 
enough to undertake all things, endure all pain, 
battle with all the world. 
72 



O you whose voice surges through my veins like 
fire, whose call is all that gives me strength to 
live, look down on me, stoop down to me, and let 
me feel your breath upon my brow. If you will 
come to me, however hard the task, however dif- 
ficult the path, I '11 treasure you ; I '11 watch each 
footstep over every stone, lest I should fall; cher- 
ish thy spirit for thee, give thee my mind, my 
soul, my life, my love — if thou wilt come to me. 

anten. Mother? 

And art thou worthy ? 

v i l a i s Nay, nay, nay, oh, nay ; but listen, listen : for when 
thou hast come, I will so strain, so work, will so 
exert each nerve and fibre of this frame, I will 
so strive, so pray, that God himself will look 
from His almighty throne and grant me grace. 
Now do you tell me where I must begin . . . dis- 
card my kingdom ; . . . my riches to the winds; 
. . . some desert isle alone; . . . move mountains, 
rock by rock, into the sea ? . . . Tell me, what 
must I do? 

anten. The thing to be done. 

vi lais The thing to be done? 

ilaia The thing to be done. 

vi lais What does it mean ? 

all and It is at hand — Farewell. 

[The steam rises as before, obscuring everything from 
sigh] 



73 



Ocene third. {Same as scene first .) vilais, sitting on the 
couch, gazes straight before her. all and regards her sadly. 

vilais [looking around suddenly] How dark it is ! 
[all and silently lights a candle] 
After the past how poor it seems, only illuminat- 
ing the poor things which stand close by. 

allan d It is alone by brightening what stands close by 
us we may learn to strike Promethean lights. 

vilais You in your greatness have shown light to me, 
master, — teacher, — friend. 

allan d You stood close by. 

vilais And you have given this to me, this vision of a 
greater life, this understanding of a higher 
power, this knowledge that a refreshing peace 
awaits me, — there — somewhere — immeasur- 
ably far beyond what I have seen. 

a l land You have but heard the tuning of an instrument. 

vilais Good man that you are. 

ALL AND Ah? 

vilais What can I ever do for this ? 

all and Live, learn, and prove your worthiness, for I have 
shown you that which is forbidden save to them 
who attain through their own toil. 

vilais I can at least do more than live and learn; and 
nothing, howsoever difficult, will I not do for 
you. For you with your own strength have 
lifted me from out my marsh, washed my feet 
clean from all the clinging mire, and set them 
on a path which, however steep, I shall with 
joy pursue. 

alland An we strain to the utmost our poor strength we 
always find a helping hand — 

vilais And love the hand the more that touches us in 
74- 



moments of despair. Dear hands which have so 
gently lifted me, cooled all the fever spots in 
my unquiet mind, how I will work for you ! 

all and Nay, work thou for my work. 

v i l a i s Aye, for your work, of course, but for you too. For 
I can help. Ah yes, you think because I am a 
princess I am less a woman. I am not less but 
more, for womanhood, so long confined, will 
now flow forth, float — like my hair in the pure 
air of heaven when I remove my crown. Dear- 
est, you shall see how I can work and help you. 

all and Nay, nay, you are too beautiful. 

vi lais And do you think me beautiful ! 

Tell me so again, for then my beauty is not vain. 
And I will stay by you, until encouraged by my 
efforts for you, you go on to higher heavens, and 
I may see my task accomplished, and mount 
with you to greater joys. And yet — a greater joy 
I do not ask than this, of being here and near to 
you. 

all and And must a woman's gratitude lead always on to 
love ? 

vi lais They are but strands she mounts upon her loom 
on which to weave her happiness. And yet a 
woman never can be happy, dear, save when she 
is a part of an important whole. She bears her 
solitude, her troubles and her babes in glorious 
silence if but that she feels ; and all the wealth 
of Indies, the pleasures of the damned, aye, all 
her hopes of heaven, avail her nothing other- 
wise. 

all and She must then work for that which represents her 
strength, that which she holds good and noble, 
for her own life and for her better self. 

75 



vi lais Ha ! I have done more than that already. All the 
long suffocating attributes of intuition have 
writhed and struggled here within my breast 
until, like exorcised demons, they have fled, and 
I draw a free breath again. 
You are my strength and life, you are my better 
self, you what I hold good, strong and virtuous, 
you are the man I love. 

all and Not I — riot I — 'tis what I represent you love! 

vi lais Ah, what you represent! Yea, but that I have 
seen through you ; without you I am not strong 
enough ; without you I shall fail. 

alland No, no, you must . . . 

vilais It is you, you, you, you who have opened out my 
life; 'tis you I love. 

alland Vilais! Do you not see this is impossible? 

vilais Oh, I know you now so well, — and what you fear. 
My love shall never hinder you, but help. 
Here I will stay, unostentatious as a mouse, nib- 
ble my crumb, and scamper off at your first step. 
But you shall find me here when you return, 
worn with your toil. Then I will give you 
drink, guide your unsteady feet to this dear 
couch and spread the softest furs o'er you. Do 
you remember what you told me of these skins ? 
'T was then I loved you first. And if you trem- 
ble, I will hold you tight ! tight ! tight ! and with 
the perfume of my unanointed hair I '11 lead you 
gently back to rest. 

alland Vilais ! We may not live in perfumed rooms and 
breathe the higher air ! Could you but know 
how you now torture me ! Have you then failed 
to understand the vision I have shown, or do you 
think me more — or less than man ? Think you 
76 



that I stand here unmoved by your emotion ? 
That I, like any other man, do not now long to 
take you in my arms, press burning kisses . . . 
No, no, no. 
I am a man, Vilais, and if of greater strength than 
most, think you 'tis for myself alone that I re- 
sist desire ? 
Tempt me no more ! 

vilais What do you mean? 

a l l a n d I mean that cruel though it seems to you — Ah, do 
not think that I fail to realize all you have said, 
all it might mean to me. I see the purity, the 
height, the nobleness, the beauty of you and of 
your words — but — Vilais, this may not be. 

vilais It may not be ? 

al la n d Do you think my heart longs not for you ? Do you 
not think your pain will add another wrinkle 
here ? Yet must I not be honest with you and 
honest with myself? 

vilais But why . . . 

alland What I most recklessly have shown to you to-day 
is but the lowest of the planes to which I'm 
destined, aye, and privileged to go. 
Should you stay here your dream would end like 
that of the poor peasant girl at court, for my 
gray room has shown you all that you can see, 
and in it you can learn to see no more. But there 
is — Vilais, look at me — 

vilais No, no, let me alone. 

alland But there is more, far more to see, if so you will. 
I cannot give you more of my own knowledge 
or of my peace — as you will find — as you will 
find to be the greatest pain in all the world. 
To do what I have done may prove to be but 

77 

L4VC 



useless ; but if you wish to be near me, to lean 
upon my strength or grant me rest — you will 
be nearer me outside, and, though in distant 
lands, feel more the pressure of my arm, and 
make me sleep more peacefully, if you are on 
the path laid down for you, than here. For here 
I must perforce live in a region you cannot yet 
attain. And if I grew to love you — as I should — 
enough to forsake the spheres to which I'm 
called . . . 

vilais No — no. 

a l l a n d Then would you lose your love of me, and through 
your hatred of yourself in making me give up 
that which you loved me for . . . 

vilais Yes, yes, I see, I know, I understand. 

But I do want to be with you, to fly with you to 
your sky. And if it is too soon, I '11 learn, I '11 
wait — Ah, I have learned to wait. But you are 
all I have ! Ah, teach me how. 

all and No brazen trumpet sounds a messenger from hea- 
ven. No gorgeous pageant precedes a searching 
soul. The market-place with no tumultuous 
shouts rings benediction, but under the closed 
gates of the sleeping city, the pilgrim, in the cold 
gray of approaching dawn, must crawl. There 
is no sudden bound to light eternal, no freedom 
from restraint of law, and to a thousand tempt- 
ing prospects the paths of other men stretch out 
before. And what we know is our own way 
seems leading only to a bare waste of stubble. 

vilais You mean? 

all and That to go on, you must go back. 

vilais To the court ? Never ! 

all and Then is all my effort vain. 
78 



vi lais Then be it vain. But if fate forced me on to you ; 
if you have led me on to see a better life only 
to turn me back more miserable through this 
better knowledge of a purer thing ; if I am able 
to perceive more than before my former penury, 
then — to tell me to return is too complete a 
farce, a cruelty. 
You do not love me — no — let me go on — that 
I can see and feel again the awful poverty of 
my own nature. All that is best and finest in 
me is to you but a stepping-stone to things far 
better still. I in my ignorance thought that I 
offered much, — many have sickened for it, — 
and it was all I had — 
But you are right, I should not pull you down to 
my mean level. You whom I wish most of all 
to help, I hinder. But back to court I will not 
go. I will leave you, and gratefully, although — 
and find some quiet place where I may rest and 
think, and — Oh, I do not know. 

all and Vilais. 

vi lais You cannot tell what I give up for you. You in 

your brightness think it naught, but — I will go. 

This is the one real day I Ve ever lived, the rest, 

the others — oh, I will not let it end! ! 
I promise you that I will go. I swear it, — do you 
hear ? I swear. But now to-day shall be all mine. 
You owe it me — just for to-day. 

allan d Vilais? 

vilais You surely can do nothing more to-day — here I 
will stay with you, and you shall talk to me, 
teach me; and with my hand in yours, my head 
upon your heart, we '11 sit until twilight comes 
and night, and in the morning I will go. 

79 



alland Vilais! 

vi la is Well, what of that ! This is the one great day of 
all my life. Even though I know you do not 
love as I love you, I '11 taste the fulness of a 
human sympathy. I care not what it costs to 
me, no, not to you, no, not to any one. 

alland And yet, even now, part of the beauty of your day 
has gone. 

vilais Gone ? Why, it . . . yes, — yes, yes, yes, — has gone. 
I 've tarnished it. Oh, I am miserable. 

alland One person's love, alas, Vilais, can never link two 
souls. And must I not regard your life? — for 
you are going back to life, back to the court, 
back to the path marked out for you by fate, the 
only one by which you may proceed. Another's 
path, however flowery, leads on to his heaven 
perhaps, but not to yours. 

vilais But to be alone again. . . . 

alland Are we not all alone, save in our knowledge that, 
although unknown, there are many more, each 
on his path? 

vilais How well I understand what they call your con- 
ceit, if this vast loneliness lies on your heart. 

alland And you will go ? 

vilais And do "The thing to be done"? 

alland And do "The thing to be done." 

[A knocking at the gates without and the voice of the 
count calling'] 

count [without'] Vilais ! Vilais ! 

vilais They have come after me ! 

alland Then — come. 

vilais Nay, let me go alone. Let me retrace the wind- 
ings of your corridor, and in the passage steel 
myself for a new life — or to forgetfulness. 
80 



all and You may not forget. 

vi la is Alas, no, I cannot forget. 

all and Doubt not. 

vi la is Good-bye — 

alland God speed. It may be we shall meet again. 

vi lais [turning suddenly] Kiss me ! 

[alland kisses her] 
alland Vilais ! ! 
vi lais Nay — good-bye. [£#//] 

\Voices without calling "vilais! vilais!"] 
alland Almighty God! Oh, rest, rest — Rest. 



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